


A Cold Night

by ColdAngels



Category: Regular Show
Genre: Gen, Just something I wanted to write, There's literally no plot to this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 17:10:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15976754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColdAngels/pseuds/ColdAngels
Summary: Snow's brewing outside. The Park house suffers a powercut. This doesn't have any real plot, but enjoy nonetheless. ^^





	A Cold Night

**Author's Note:**

> I know the show's over, but I still think about RS from time to time. Enjoy this little ficlet :)

"Do you know how many days it's been snowing, man?"

Mordecai's hand is resting on his chin as he stares out the window. He's wrapped in a thick, dark blue throw blanket him and Rigby had played paper, scissors, rock for and he leans into it, letting his eyes drift lazily over each flake before coming to rest on the blank screen of the tv and he wishes for the hundredth time that the damn thing was battery operated.

The power went out 45 minutes ago and Pops had managed to dig out some candles from a cupboard in the kitchen. One flickers now on the table in front of the duo, it's flame high and it's wax dripping fast onto the small plate below. Mordecai glances at it. He counts the droplets then replies to him.

"Too many?"

Rigby's sat on the floor. He passes a rubber ball over both hands, "9," he answers, throwing it at the wall. It bounces on the carpet then lands back in his palm. "We've spent 9 stupid days shovelling." Throw, catch. "Has Benson even heard of a snow plow before or does he just like to see us suffer?" Throw, catch.

"You know he's out there with us too, dude." Another batch of snow adds to the blanket outside. "So are Skips, Muscle Man and Fives. I think if Benson could get a snow plow, he would've done it by now."

"Then why hasn't he?"

Mordecai shrugs halfheartedly, "Maybe the park can't afford one right now."

A moment passes. The rubber ball hits the wall and Mordecai puts his attention back on the snow. It's a truly beautiful sky out there, even if it is below 0 degrees, and he gets the weird and very strong urge to go and just sit on the porch, swaddled in blankets. Maybe have his 5th hot cocoa of the day. Anything to get rid of this boredom. Besides, he does need to stretch his legs a bit.

Rigby catches the ball then puts his head back and groans, "I'm so _bored_!"

"Why don't you go raid the fridge? Pops made a batch of brownies last night."

"...And you decided to tell me that _now_? When I've been sitting here _starving_ to death?"

Mordecai shrugs again. He's so strangely transfixed on the sky now. He swears the stars have never been brighter, the clouds this fluffy…

Rigby eyes the back of his head. The ball in his palm sparks an idea and he makes no hesitation in arching his arm, squinting an eye to aim for the perfect spot that'll cause the most damage -

His stomach emits a low grumble and he lowers it, but still watches for any movement.

Nothing.

Sighing in defeat, Rigby turns and grips the ball tightly in his hand. He grabs the candle on his way and the light slowly fades from the living room walls. Soon Mordecai's sitting in darkness. Well. Almost.

The stars outside create a new one. It's not as strong as the flames but it begins to be as his eyes adjust to the room. Smiling to himself, Mordecai swings his legs over the sofas edge and takes the blanket with him to the front door; he can hear Rigby going through the fridge, moving jars aside as he searches for the pan. Mordecai reaches out for the handle right as the fridge door is forcefully shut and cupboard doors are now being opened,

"You sure Pops didn't make invisible brownies?"

Mordecai sighs. The other three workers are up in the guest rooms snoring away, and though all are heavy sleepers, that doesn't exactly give Rigby the excuse to make a load of racket. He doesn't bother replying and makes to slip out again. Rigby doesn't seem to want him to. Either that, or he's just being his general pain in the ass.

"Ugh, what the hell, man. There has to be something in here! Hey Mordecai, come help me would ya?"

The last thing he wants to do is make a mess of the kitchen, and he has to admit he's surprised Rigby isn't creating more of one with what little light he has to guide him. Though he doesn't know how long that will last. The candle only has a limited amount of wax and once that's burnt out, he'll be stumbling through the house, bumping into everything and definitely waking everyone up.

Mordecais fingers touch the handle again. He doesn't even listen to Rigbys whiny pleas to reach for the higher cupboards; the need to be outside is practically a plea on its own.

No way does he want to be around when everyone finally hears him.

* * *

 

There's no breeze. No wind.

It's a completely still night. There are no lights on in anyones house, no cars roaming the streets. No rustle of an animal. The trees are covered in white.

Mordecai wraps the blanket tighter around his body and slowly lowers himself to the porch. Bits of snow decorate the steps but for the most part surround the entirety of the house. From this angle, it looks as if it stretches on forever. Logic and snow days have said it stops at the fence line, but it's somewhat a nicer thought of it continuing on endlessly and that's what Mordecai settles on for tonight. He raises his eyes to the stars and yes, of course they're still bright. And out here he can see so many more. The clouds are fluffier at a closer look and he wants to reach out for one.

For now, he's on another planet. Another world entirely.

He rests his head against the chilled bannister and closes his eyes. Whatever time he has out here, he wants to hold it close like it's crystal; precious, untouched. Pure.

A voice shatters the illusion and Mordecais eyes fly open. He stares out at the softly falling snow and listens.

"...You get upstairs right now or I'll make you shovel _all day_ tomorrow!"

Cupboards slam shut and the candles flame is seen from a passerby of flying across the window. The figure of a raccoon briefly hurries up before dashing into the bedroom and Benson sighs into his hand that he uses to run over his face in exasperation. The want to feel sympathy for Rigby is nonexistent and instead he aches to be enfolded in the galaxy again. His eyes go to the stars as the door opens quietly behind him and a pause hangs in the air when Benson considers him on the porch. Neither of them say anything for a moment, and Benson dares a few careful steps. It is a bit slippery after all.

"Mordecai? What're you doing out here?"

His car keys sound in his hand. A loud contrast to the softness of his voice, like he's in tune with the silence too.

Mordecai wonders on the question. Benson stays behind him. Nothing he can think of feels a suitable answer, so he ends on the common one.

"I don't know."

Benson remains still, maybe waiting for the right one. Mordecai tilts his chin to the sky, providing it in the movement and it's an agonising few seconds until Bensons boots are heard again.

He comes down the steps, past Mordecai who doesn't blink once, and stops halfway. Questions are prying at the front of his mind but he isn't sure which one to ask first.

"It's freezing out here. Aren't you cold?"

Mordecai puts his chin down and looks over at him. A long winter coat reaches his boots and he's wearing gloves; the absence of a scarf reflects on himself and he now feels the cold brushing his cheeks.

"I think so. I'm fine out here, Benson. Don't worry."

Benson gives him a wary once over. The hand holding his keys curls in the left jacket pocket and he looks out at his car. Snow lays atop it and dusts the windowsills. In the hours, it's grown thick around the tires and something visibly dissolves in Bensons body when the realisation hits. Mordecai gives him not an ounce of attention. His focus is on the stars above.

The keys are dropped flatly in the fur lining and it's hand fumbles for the bannister, giving Benson balance as he takes the welcomed seat beside Mordecai. His knees are brought to his chest and he folds his arms around them, eyes catching on a far off tree with fairy lights.

Together they sit in comfortable, wanted silence. Both of them have a point to fix on, though Benson is restless enough to leave it alone for now. He rests his chin on his knees, voice muffled as he speaks to no one.

"Guess I'm staying here tonight."

Mordecai notes the disappointment in his voice. He breathes out and watches the cloud in front of himself slowly dissipate, "Aren't you gonna go inside?"

Benson glances at him. His gloved thumbs brush his kneecaps, "Hm?"

"To set up the sofa?"

He looks back out and a soft, dreamy smile comes onto his face, his voice equal to it, "I think I'll stay out here for a minute."

Mordecai's eyes trail away and settle back onto the stars. A few beats of quiet pass over them and he sees Benson take a large breath in, gaze holding that of a broken fort a distance off, one Rigby had built earlier on a break that Benson hadn't authorised. The snowballs he had been forced to leave makes a small pile beside it, and the shovel he'd been given blisters from has been purposefully buried in retaliation. Rigbys bootprints to the house are long faded now but the memory of his excited grin to have yet another cocoa ignites a fleeting warmth within his chest and he sighs against his skin.

"Skips is leaving at the end of the month."

"Has he told anyone else?"

"No. He wants to wait until winter's passed." A rueful chuckle is forced from his lips and he sighs. "The idiot doesn't even want a cake."

He lets the tears fall on his cheeks and tangles his fingers together, sniffling once before continuing, "Pops is going to make him one anyway. Chocolate."

Mordecai's words stay in his throat. The way Benson holds himself as he speaks to the air; it's as if he'll shatter when touched, crumble into his body for an untold time and he realises it's easier to leave him alone.

"Maellard's been on my case these last two weeks demanding I put out applications for a new assistant manager. I suggested we give the position to someone already working here, but of course he talked over me, saying it was a stupid idea and what am I thinking giving any of you guys the job when there are plenty of competent fellows out there." He rubs his hands together and his eyes match the stars for the flicker of a second, "You would think he'd take the recommendation and run with it. It would save us time, having one of you to fill his place, and you'd be shown the ropes. But he doesn't see it that way. Everything he says is the right thing."

At last Mordecai finds his voice. Bensons words crash over him and he brings the blanket closer around his shoulders. His gaze lands on the step underneath Bensons boots, "What're you gonna do?"

Benson scoffs, "Listen to him, of course."

"But...I mean, why not promote one of us?" Benson gives him a questioning look and he shrugs. "If you hire someone new, you'd just be wasting time. We'd both be learning on the job anyway, and besides, if we suck at it, you can demote us back to groundskeeper." Benson still isn't sold. Mordecai smiles to put him at ease. "Why don't you trial it for about a month, and if it doesn't work out, then send out the applications."

Benson raises an eyebrow. Mordecai sounds so sure of himself and it almost draws Benson in too; if it weren't for the echo of Maellards voice swirling around his head. He shakes his own and glances off in defeat. "No...Mordecai, look. I appreciate your help, but Maellard won't reason with anything I have to say."

His hand touches his arm, "Just try it." He removes it to his side, and his touch lingers for the few seconds Benson has to calm his heartbeat. "Call him tomorrow and tell him you've been thinking about what you discussed. If Maellard still won't listen then...well, it was worth a shot, right?"

Benson picks at the orange wool on his gloves and considers this. Mordecai really has no idea what it is like to deal with Maellard, but he doesn't exactly expect him to. He only ever has good intentions and he won't blame him if this all's to go faulty; it's something on the table, to assess. The worst thing Maellard can do is yell and Benson would be the subject of it, as is expected.

His eyes slowly lift to him and a shy blush comes onto his cheeks when he sees Mordecai gazing at the stars above. He clears his throat, something fluttering in his chest as Mordecai's eyes settle on him. His face is soft and patient and Benson's mouth feels dry; his answer makes it's way through regardless.

"Alright."


End file.
